Shame and Necessity: Two Sides of the Same Coin
by gillasue345
Summary: They were broke. Broker than broke. Dad had left them only enough for two weeks and he was supposed to have been back a week and a half ago and Dean had been able to stretch it out. But Dad wasn't answering his phone. Dean had spent his last five bucks on bar cover, flashing his fake id at the bouncer who waved him in with a yawn.


Shame and Necessity: Two Sides of the Same Coin

gillasue345 Summary: They were broke. Broker than broke. Dad had left them only enough for two weeks and he was supposed to have been back a week and a half ago and Dean had been able to stretch it out. But Dad wasn't answering his phone. Dean had spent his last five bucks on bar cover, flashing his fake id at the bouncer who waved him in with a yawn. Notes: WARNING: TEEN!DEAN DOES THINGS HE SHOULDNT HAVE TO DO. tw: underage prostitution. Dean's self worth takes another hit. Dean is 16. Explicit sex. Don't read on if you're uncomfortable with this.

"Don't wait up Sammy," he said as he tossed his brother the last bag of Fritos and a diet coke. "I'll be back in the morning, and lock the door behind me." Dean said as she pulled the door shut.

"I know Dean, you don't have to fucking tell me every time!"

Dean barely rolled his eyes. Sam had begun swearing more in the past year, but he still stumbled over the words. It was adorable. But as he pulled his jacket tighter against him and walked down the street to the local dive bar, he heard the door lock behind him.

They were broke. Broker than broke.

Dad had left them only enough for two weeks and he was supposed to have been back a week and a half ago and Dean had been able to stretch it out. But Dad wasn't answering his phone. Dean had spent his last five bucks on bar cover, flashing his fake id at the bouncer who waved him in with a yawn.

Unfortunately, the bar had no pool tables, and what the hell kind of dive bar had no fucking pool table? And Sam was much better at darts than he was. There was no way he'd make enough to cover the room fee and groceries with darts alone.

He took a seat at the bar, rubbing the back of his neck absently. A few seats away a man dressed in a dark suit, woefully out of place in the rough and tumble atmosphere of the bar, sat nursing a tumbler of whiskey.

"What'll it be, honey?" the bartender sidled up to him, leaning over far enough that if Dean broke eye contact, which he totally isn't doing, he could see the soft pink lace of her bra swell up beneath her ripped t-shirt.

Dean bit his lip. He couldn't afford a drink. But he watched as she took in his appearance, the way her eyes widened just the tiniest bit, and smiled crookedly, letting the barest hint of heat touch his eyes. He'd always been good at getting what he wanted with his looks.

"What's your specialty?" he asked, intentionally lowering his voice, smirking as her cheeks blossomed pink under her too pale makeup. Her blue eyes sparkled.

"I make a mean Jack and Ginger," she whispered.

Dean reached over the bar, letting one finger trail from the crook of her elbow down to her wrist, where he felt her pulse jump. "I guess we'll see,"

She pulled her hand away slowly, her lips curling up into a smile as she turned away.

She brought him his drink, and Dean made to pull out his wallet, but she just shook her head, resting her hand on top of his.

"On the house, sugar."

Dean barely suppressed his smirk.

"Thanks sweetheart," He felt the beginning tingle of desire crawl into his belly. He could take her home, have some fun. Maybe find a stash of cash somewhere once she was asleep.

He was just about to take his chance when she raised her left hand to brush away her blonde bangs. And his stomach dropped. There sitting on her left ring finger, was a plain gold band. She caught his crestfallen expression and smirked back.

"You didn't think I'd actually fall for your pretty boy routine did you?" Dean shrugged.

"It was worth a shot," he downed the rest of his drink and winked at her. "You have a good night,"

He stood, making his way to the restroom, if you could call it that. The urinals were cracked. One was slowly leaking, a puddle forming on the urinal mat. The other one looked as if it hadn't been flushed in a week. the acrid smell of puke and urine assaulted his sense and he took a moment to splash his face with lukewarm water. How was he going to get some cash now. He couldn't afford the cover to another bar, and he sure as hell wasn't looking to get shot at because he was with another dude's wife.

The door to the restroom opened up and Dean whirled around as he heard the sound of the door locking behind the new occupant. The man in the dark suit was standing in his way, blocking the bathroom exit.

Unease began to rise within him as he watched the man stare brazenly back at him.

"Having a good night?" the man asked, his voice was high and reedy and Dean winced. It didn't match his demeanor at all.

Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand.

"Could be better,"

The man was advancing now, entering his personal space, his brown eyes were dull and his dark hair looked greasy in the pale fluorescent light.

"Oh yeah, sugar, how's that?" The creep brushed his finger along Dean's forearm, in much the same way that he'd done just a few minutes ago with the bartender. Did he dare? He could easily fight his way out of this. All he'd have to do was get the guy, who was a couple inches shorter than Dean in a headlock. It would be easy, routine. Dad would probably be ashamed that Dean hadn't done it already. That he was hesitating.

But.

They needed the money. Sam was a bottomless pit of hunger since he'd shot up six inches in less than six months. And Dean had noticed that his shoes were becoming too small for Sammy's feet. He could always hand down his own boots, but he had just gotten them broken in and Sam always complained that their arches were too different to share shoes.

And it isn't like this is the first time he's done this.

So he took a chance. "It'd be a whole lot better with a couple dead presidents in my pocket, that's for damn sure."

"Oh, and which presidents would those be?"

The man pressed closer. Dean could smell his expensive aftershave. He could feel the soft material of his suit beneath his fingertips as he steeled his resolve and placed his hands on the other man's shoulders.

"Big Ben and a couple of his twin brothers, and I bet we can have loads of fun." Dean figured he'd go big or go home. the guy seemed to know what that amount of money entailed, and his eyes widened for a moment before they crinkled at the corners.

The creep nodded. He trailed his finger tips across Dean's cheeks, over his freckles and his too full lips.

"Let's get out of here then," Dean said, as he followed the guy out of the bar.

He hesitated as they reached the dude's car, a prissy ass little Nissan SUV. He knew he shouldn't get in the guy's car. That it could spell trouble, but he palmed the knife he kept hidden in his jacket pocket, and felt the cool touch of a blade against his ankle and felt safe.

If it goes sideways, he can handle himself in a fight. His father made sure of that.

And so when they pull up to the swanky apartment building with its rigid doorman and fucking stone faced elevator attendant, Dean just goes along for the ride. The doorman had referred to the creep as Mr. Johnson, and Dean had to snort back a laugh, but if all else fails, at least he has a name to go with a face now.

Not like the cops would actually do anything about it.

They arrive at the man's apartment, and it's the ridiculously modern yuppy monstrosity that Dean had fully expected it to be.

Mr. Johnson shut the door behind them, locking it tightly before turning back to survey Dean in his living room.

He pulled off his tie deftly, letting it drop on the floor before he grabbed Dean by the shoulders and crashed their lips together.

His lips were surprisingly soft, and Dean let out a small yelp of surprise at the man's insistent tongue.

Dean pulled away, shaking his head as he did so. "No more kissing," he mumbled, his heart pounding. The man seemed to take this in stride, instead he pulled Dean's leather jacket off his shoulders, latching his mouth around the pressure point behind Dean's ear that never failed to set his blood boiling.

Dean barely suppresses a whimper of pure want. He has to do this. But he sure has hell shouldn't be enjoying it.

Of course, that doesn't stop the heat from pooling in the pit of his stomach or the strain of his jeans to become uncomfortably tight.

"What do you want?" Dean forced out as the man's fingers slowly skimmed over his belly beneath his t-shirt and up towards his nipples.

The man pulled away. His eyes were almost black with desire, his pupils blown out so much that there was barely a hint of brown around the edges.

"I want you to fuck me, I want your mouth on me... in me." the man's voice broke, and for moment Dean almost felt sorry for him. It wasn't what he was expecting.

Usually, if Dean ever did... indulge... in this forbidden fruit, he was on the receiving end. But it couldn't be much different than when he was with girls could it?"

He pulled the man to him, quickly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and placing a kiss over the man's collarbone.

He stopped when he reached the man's pants however, and just stared at him. He was attractive in an older dude kind of way Dean mused, but he ain't doing this for free and Dean pulled back, holding out his hand, feeling the shame and guilt well up in him until he was choking on it. But the man simply sighed and reached into his back pocket.

He pulled out three bills and placed them gently in Dean's hand, but Dean hadn't missed the wad of bills still waiting in the dude's wallet. He put the bills in his wallet and replaced it in his pants. Then he took off his shirt, allowing it to fall to the ground next to his jacket. He left his shoes on, but let his jeans drop to the ground.

Maybe I can get him to fall asleep- an errant thought occurred to him and he pushed it away. They weren't quite that desperate yet. And 300 dollars would more than cover their debt until Dad came home. Dean was a lot of things, but he hated stealing more than anything else, mostly because of the disappointed look on Sam's face when he found out. He didn't like handouts and he would prefer to earn his money in some fashion rather than take.

But he would if he had to.

They made their way to the wide leather couch and Dean would be annoyed that it was so fucking soft if they had been in any other situation.

He let his boxers fall to his ankles with his jeans and then quickly, clinically stripped Mr. Johnson of his remaining clothes.

Then the man did something that Dean did not expect. Slowly, with the reverence of a man in church, he pulled Dean's fingers into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around his digits, but then pulled away, reaching into the side table and pulling out a condom. he tossed it at Dean and then brought Dean's hand back up to his mouth.

Dean ripped open the condom with his teeth, rolling it on deftly, trying not to be distracted by the man's mouth on his fingers.

Once his hand was spit slick, the man lay back, brushing Dean's fingers on his hard cock, and jerking lightly at Dean's soft touch. Dean prepped him slowly, blushing at the sounds Johnson was making at his ministrations.

Then suddenly, the man pushed his hand away. His eyes were dark, wild.

"I want your mouth in me, baby," he barely whispered, but Dean felt himself flush from the roots of his hair to his chest. He'd never done that before. It almost turned his stomach to think about even doing it. But the guy wasn't that bad. He hadn't hurt him, and he'd asked for it upfront. And he'd paid extra, so why the hell not. It was a beautiful and natural act he just repeated to himself.

Or not, he thought as he closed his mouth around the rim of the dude's ass and nearly gagged. The overwhelming smell of musk and sweat and ass had him choking up the jack and ginger from the bar, and he had to take a deep breath through his mouth and out his nose to stop himself from throwing up.

But the sounds that the man above him were making were positively sinful, and after a moment, the smell and taste faded into the background leaving him with only sensation.

Eventually, Dean began to add fingers, watching as the man jumped every time he hit his prostate.

He pulled away, gasping and panting as the man groaned loudly. "What do you want?" he whispered to the man writing beneath him.

"Fuck me, please, please fuck me," the man gasped, and Dean stroked his own cock for a moment, before lining it up at the other man's entrance. He groaned as he pushed in, the man was tight yet pliant against him, his body tensing around the intrusion, then relaxing.

He pulled back incrementally, then thrust back in. Johnson gripped him at the shoulders, lifting his legs to allow more access, and Dean couldn't help the moan that rose to his lips. He watched shamelessly as the other man's cock bounced in time to his thrusts, how the man's hand wrapped around his own cock, fisting the head with his palm and squeezing he vein underneath with his thumb, swiping it over the slit. And Dean pretended that it didn't turn him on. That the man below him was a moaning mess, thrashing down and against his cock, didn't make his stomach clench in tight pleasure, building him closer and closer to his release.

And when the man came, spurting white all over his own stomach, moaning loudly the name of someone that Dean didn't know, Dean let go too, shaking inside this other man, pressing him down with the aftershocks of orgasm. His knees nearly gave out beneath him and it was all he could do to remain upright.

Dean pulled out then, his face burning bright with shame after coming down from his high. The other man was lying boneless against the couch cushions, his face flushed and a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. He reached over to the side table and picked up a Kleenex from the waiting box and cleaned himself off before offering the box to Dean. Dean pulled the condom off, wrapping it in tissue before dropping it into the man's waiting hand.

The man then flipped Dean down, placing the softest of kisses to Dean's mouth before he could pull away.

"Thank you," he mumbled quietly against Dean's chest.

Dean dressed quickly after that. He turned to look once more at the man who was slowly drifting to sleep on the couch and then returned to him.

He let his fingers slide through the man's messy hair for one moment before he pulled the throw blanket over the man's naked body.

"Goodnight, luv." The man whispered to someone who was most definitely not Dean. And Dean felt a stab of envy for this man's lover. What must it feel like to love someone so much that even when you're with another, you yell out their name as you come.

The man fell asleep pretty quickly after that, and after a moment's hesitation, Dean reached into the man's wallet and pulled another hundred.

He left then. Ignoring the smirk of the elevator attendant and the scowl of the doorman as he made his way out of the apartment and began to walk to his and Sam's motel room.

When he got back, he found Sam sprawled out on his bed, an ancient book about werewolves lying open over his face.

Dean sighed, taking the book and placing it on the bedside table. He pulled the covers up from the end of the bed until most of his brother was bundled up like a burrito then he headed toward the bathroom.

He turned the water on full blast and stripped. He took the hottest shower of his life, ignoring the sobs that racked through his chest. He brushed his teeth twice, but still couldn't get the taste of the man off is tongue.

Once he was finished, he dressed fully and climbed into his bed. He rested his hand around the knife beneath his pillow and silently willed the tears of shame to go away. Eventually Dean drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the weight of the money in his pocket causing him to have nightmares of all the ways it could have gone wrong tonight.

The next morning, Dean was awoken by the sound of the lock turning in their doorway.

He was awake in a flash, his hand on his knife, but then he relaxed as he saw the graying hair of his father in the doorway, followed quickly, like a punch in the gut and then the balls, with the realization that Dad was home, and that once again, his efforts were proven to be unnecessary and never ever spoken of.

John just tossed a few more hundred dollar bills onto Dean's bed, "Will that cover you?" he asked, his tone was definitely annoyed. Annoyed that Dean had run out of money, annoyed that he had had to come all the way back here because Dean wasn't responsible enough to handle having a budge. Dean just nodded, shame a thousand times worse than it had been with Mr. Johnson welled up inside Dean, replacing his anger until it had only been a memory. Shame was the only emotion he could feel right now. Shame because his actions weren't even needed. That he could have waited another night and he wouldn't have had to stoop so low.

"Yes sir," he said and his voice broke. A single tear fell down his cheek. "That should c-cover it."

John nodded and pulled his duffle back over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a few more days. Make sure Sam gets to school on time. The damn teacher keeps calling my cell."

Dean looked down again. "Yes, sir."

And with a nod, John was out the door.

When Sam woke up a few hours later, he didn't mention the redness of his brother's eyes or the money still scattered across Dean's bed.


End file.
